I was waiting for the best day
when I become the surface of a lake
lain in the Tibetan mountains.
It was reflecting everything
since countless thousands of years ago.
I was waiting for the calm day.
Sky dissolved into the lake.
Cloud flowed over the lake.

Birds of passage crossed over the lake.
A sudden wind carried everything away
towards the shore of the lake.
And the sky stretched over us all again.
We have everything already in our hands.

It was when I was twenty three years old,
wandering, traveling around aimlessly.
Snow in Norway,
Dessert in Morocco, Mountains in Afghanistan,
River in India.
In Germany, I wondered about, being penniless, where I met Scots guy, Peter.
He had also no money.

He gave me his own poem for my birthday.
I think we think too much And fail to see
In simple things reflections eternity
We are cut off our own life sources And love lost source of
Joy and Ecstasy.